


Oneshots of Hold Onto Me

by LeadenSparrow



Series: Antarctica Empire AU [2]
Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Duck Hybrid Alexis | Quackity, Fluff and Angst, Hurt Alexis | Quackity, Hurt/Comfort, Jschlatt is Toby Smith | Tubbo's Parent, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Ram Hybrid Toby Smith | Tubbo, Sad Alexis | Quackity, Villain Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Villain Jschlatt (Video Blogging RPF)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-19 00:16:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29617665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeadenSparrow/pseuds/LeadenSparrow
Summary: I haven't watched Tommy's stream yet so no spoilers please!
Relationships: Alexis | Quackity & Jschlatt & Toby Smith | Tubbo, Clay | Dream & Jschlatt & Toby Smith | Tubbo, Jschlatt & Toby Smith | Tubbo, More tags to be added - Relationship, i have no idea what i'm doing - Relationship
Series: Antarctica Empire AU [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2176104
Comments: 40
Kudos: 71





	Oneshots of Hold Onto Me

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't watched Tommy's stream yet so no spoilers please!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings:
> 
> Death   
> Blood  
> Abuse  
> Manipulation   
> Let me know if I forgot anything

Quackity was asleep when the empire fell. Passed out on his dad's lap, his last feeling being his fathers hands preening his wings. 

When he woke up all he could see was fire as his father ran through the garden. And Quackity, head resting on his fathers shoulder can see the castle, flames shooting from the window. He whines at the sight of his home on fire. Burying his head into his dad's shoulder. Feeling younger than he had in ages. Feeling far more scared than he had in years. Far more scared than when Techno and Wilbur had gotten into a fight and Quackity had gotten stuck in the middle while the two advanced on each other with wooden swords. Far scarier than when Quackity had asked dad where his mom is. 

“It’s okay pequeño. It’s okay. Stay quiet my love. I’ll get us out.” His dad's low warble instantly calms Quackity and he buries himself deeper into his dad's shoulder. His dad was here. His dad always knows what to do. And even though he was almost ten. Even though he’d reached the age where he could wander the grounds without a babysitter. He still craved this. He was scared. And Quackity wasn't afraid to admit it. Then his dad did something he rarely did. Flapping his wings and bursts into the sky. Quackity watched the fire get slightly farther. Watching the colors leap. He watched screams below. He sees the arrow before it hits. He screams as the arrow goes straight through dad's shoulder. And then he watches the sky fall. 

They hit a tree first and that must’ve softened the ground as Quackity was alive. Desperately scrambling across the ground, clutching his burning ribs, tears flowing down Quackity’s face. “Papà! Papà!” He sees a bundle on the ground. The wings Quackity knows so well, crumpled on each other. His father’s bloody face illuminated in the firelight. And Quackity doesn’t know what to do. Phil had always said when someone is hurt to scream for help. And dad had said to keep quiet. But then Dad rolled over and Quackity saw something white in between the blood. And he knew inquisitively that white was not supposed to be in blood. (Maybe it was kid logic. Maybe it was one of Technoblade’s many speeches about blood). And Quackity screams. And he screams and yells for someone. Anyone. His fathers hand clutched in his own, blood everywhere, when soldiers Quackity doesn’t know. Crests Quackity doesn’t recognize grabs them. 

He doesn’t remember what happened after that. He just remembers screaming bloody murder when he’s ripped from his dad’s limp hand. But he’s being marched through the burned palace. Making direct eye contact with his dad’s unseeing eyes being dragged in front of him. And Quackity can’t look away. “Move.” He whispers to himself trying to will his father into movement. “Move.” Quackity whispers again, tears flooding his eyes all over again. 

“Sir. We found two more!.” The strange guards march Quackity into Phil’s throne room but a stranger sits on the throne. Phil’s bloody crown rests on his head. 

“Fucking hell. Where do these brats keep coming from? You!” The scary man points directly at Quackity. “Who the fuck are you?”  
And Quackity’s pain addled brain did the one thing it could think of. “You shouldn't say fuck. My dad says it's a bad word.” The scary man gives a scary laugh, advancing from Phil’s throne and gripping Quackity’s face, his sharp nails digging into Quackity’s skin.

“I like your gumption kid. But your dad?” His nails dig in deeper eliciting a whine from Quackity as he feels the skin break. “But your dad? I gave him a way out. But he refused staying with that whiny fucking king of his. And do you see where that got him?” Quackity feels his head turned and tries to fight it as he stares into his fathers eyes. And watches them blink. Hope flares in his chest because his dad is alive! He will help him. He will know what to do. What’s going on. But the scary man sees it too. “Oh still alive I see. Dream! Get your ass over here!” Someone else Quackity doesn't know walks over, his entire face covered by a smiley face mask. 

“What do you want, Schlatt.”

“Kill him. And uh… Make it personal.”

“You sure?” Both men ignore Quackity’s screams of rage. Both ignore the way dad tries to get to his feet. Both ignore them till Quackity rips himself from Schlatts grasp scrambling to his dad's side. 

“Dad?” He feels his father’s strong hand weakly grip his, smearing blood everywhere. 

“It’s okay pequeño. I’ll be okay. You just look away now okay. Look away. I love….” And then he screams. And Quackity’s world falls apart as a dark blade runs through his fathers chest. His hand slips from Quackity’s and the world already feels cold. And then Quackity screams. A sound of pure pain. A sound of pure emotion.

“Will someone for the love of god shut that brat up!” And that was the last thing Quackity heard when something connects with the back of his head and everything is dark.

…

It was quiet after Quackity lost his world. 

The weeks passed in a hazy misery. He didn’t know why he was kept alive. He didn’t even understand what was going on. He’d put most of the parts together. He was smart for age. Apparently. He had never seen it himself but he’d always been able to keep up with Wilbur during school despite the age difference. So Quackity knew inquisitively that he was kept alive in this small servant room for a reason. There was a reason Schlatt wanted him alive. And Quackity would find it. And then he would make him pay. 

But right now? Quackity wanted a hug. Desperately. Anyone to hug him. But specifically he wanted his dad. He wanted the way his wings wrapped around Quackity in a way that Quackity couldn't. He’d tried over the days in grief, wrapping his wings around him as tightly as he could. Neither could reach the other and just caused more tears to fall from eyes that shouldn’t have any more left. He wanted one more hug. One more I love you. Just more time. 

He wandered in memories for days, barely eating, just thinking of revenge. Thinking of stabbing Schlatt with the same blade that ended his world. Thinking of slowly killing the man in the mask. Thinking of life returning to a normal that’s no longer there. 

But then the door opened. And the masked man is standing there. His hand on that blade. Roughly grabbing Quackity’s arm, dragging him from the small room, passed the hallways that Quackity had joyfully ran through only days ago. Dragging him into Tommy’s room. Or what he guessed used to be Tommy’s room. Quackity heard some of the maids pass his door crying over the loss of the youngest. Quackity added it to his list of things to get revenge for. 

“Oh for fucks sake Dream. Why the hell did you bring another brat for me to deal with.” That’s when Quackity noticed the crying child in Schlatt’s arms. A small furiously wiggling child in overalls. 

“Look dad. Until he’s older this kid is useless to us. So how about instead of having to hire more staff just give him the brat. And we can get back on track.” Quackity stands quietly, the new information wiggling into his brain. Schlatt grins a little, taking a deep swig from the bottle Quackity hadn’t previously noticed.

“Sure. Fine. Whatever. As long as the kid doesn't go asking for anything.” And then Schlatt’s gone, the kid dumped into Quackity’s arms, wandering from the room mumbling about 50 percent and other numbers Quackity doesn't understand. 

But then before Quackity can even get a good look at the kid, Dream is there. Leering over his shoulder and begins to whisper in his ear. “You fuck this up kid. And your precious parents final resting place remains my little secret.” And Quackity’s heart drops. If he doesn't know where dad rests he can’t honor his memory. It’s not like Quackity has a photo. He’ll have to keep him alive in the afterlife through memory alone. And until he can find his father’s grave and decorate it, his father will have nothing in the afterlife. This information sends a cold wave through him. And judging by the low chuckle Dream gives, the masked man had noticed. Dream leaves then, leaving Quackity all alone with this small kid who’s started crying again. 

“Shh. Shh it’s okay… Looking down at the overalls, he sees a name sewn onto the denim pocket. “Shh it’s okay Tubbo.” He begins to rock Tubbo the same way he’d seen Phil rock Tommy, Humming a tune his father used to sing as well. Rocking around the room, he finally sits down on the bed, Tubbo’s crying finally stopped. Instinctively he wraps his wings around Tubbo. And that’s when Quackity cries. His wings finally fit together.

…

Every year without fail, Quackity would shut himself away on Día de Muertos, desperately picturing his dad’s face. Leaving little offering of what he could find out for all those he had lost. Tommy, Phil, Wilbur. His little altar in that small room slowly grew. He’d never been able to find any photos and he never had the right food or flowers. But it was the best he could do under Schlatt and Dream’s noses. He’d grown to hate the two more than he thought was possible. After taking over full care of Tubbo, he doesn't think he’s ever hated someone more. He remembers the rage that filled him the first time Tubbo came crying to him, a large bruise dotting his check. And then Tubbo had looked up at him, those stupid puppy dog eyes looking up at him begging for an explanation to why. Why doesn't dad love him? Why does the world hurt? And Quackity doesn't have the answers. Barely holding back tears himself. So he gathers Tubbo in his arms, taking him out into the garden, sitting the boy in front of bees. Watching all the worry being washed off his young face as a bee came over bumping into him, resting calmly in his hand.

Schlatt came and apologized the next day. Handing Tubbo a bee plush and promising to never do it again. Quackity knew better even as Tubbo ran through the halls showing the plush off to any adult who would stop and listen. All making eye contact with Quackity above the excited boys head. Pity in their eyes. They all knew. 

Schaltt did not apologize the first time he hit Quackity. And Quackity didn’t expect him too. He just started keeping a first aid kit in his room. Adding a second one to Tubbo’s. 

But today was Quackity’s day. A day to remember those he’d lost. He had worked hard to get this day. He had sacrificed a lot to be alone this day. But of course something had to go wrong. Of course Schlatt had to ruin it. So when Tubbo came bursting into Quackity’s room, blood running down his arm and tears running down his face, Quackity was not surprised. Annoyed yes. But not surprised. Nothing could surprise him anymore. 

“I didn't mean to, I fucking swear.” Quackity just sighs getting the bandages from under his bed and begins wrapping Tubbo’s arm.

‘Don’t say fuck Tubbo.”

“But dad and Dream say it! Why can’t I?” Quackity looks at Tubbo pouting on the bed, the pain in his arm already forgotten instead for a debate about the legitimacy of a six year old wanting to say fuck. 

“You can say it when you're older mkay?” 

“Okay!” Tubbo happily bounces on the bed, Quackity having finished bandaging Tubbo’s arm. “What’s that?” His bandaged hand pointing towards Quackity’s pitiful alter.

Sighing deeply, Quackity looks forlornly towards the dying flowers and scraps of food. “It's so I can remember those I’ve lost.” 

“Oh.” Tubbo looks like he’s thinking hard before he shoots up “Like how dad will disappear to remember mommy?” Quackity winces at that. This is going to be difficult to explain to a six year old. 

“Not quite kiddo.” Tubbo snuggles into his arms as the two stare at the altar. “It’s more about remembering the good and bad instead of drowning it all out like your dad. “

“Oh.” Tubbo leans deeper into his arms, “Who are you remembering?” And that’s where things got even more difficult. 

“You got to promise me you won’t tell your dad or Dream about this. Okay Tubbo?” Tubbo nods solemnly, already looking too old for his age. Holding his pinky finger out to Quackity. They lock them with a small smile as Quackity’s wings wrap more protectively around the two, Tubbo will be growing out of his wings soon, Quackity has to cherish what he has while he has it. “Okay Tubbo. I’m honoring my dad. I’m honoring my godfather. My friend and his brother.”

“Oh. Are they dead?” Tubbo looks up with shining eyes and Quackity tries not to choke on his tears.

“Yeah they are buddy.” He rests his head on Tubbo’s own. Staring at his altar with blurred vision. “And I don’t want to forget them. So I made this.”

“But how do you remember them without photos? I have a photo of mommy under my bed. Do you have any photos?” And looking at Tubbo with those large innocent eyes, his horns barely poking through his curls, the still fading bruise on his check, Quackity breaks.

“No… I don’t have any photos and I’m scared of Tubbo and I don’t…” And then Tubbo is bolting from the room, causing Quackity to cry harder. He’d fucked it up. Tubbo wasn’t going to want to be around him anymore and what was he thinking, dumping his problems on a child. A child who would never want to hang out with him anymore… And then Tubbo is back. Crayons and paper clutched tightly in his hands. And before Quackity can open his mouth, Tubbo’s bee plush is shoved into Quackity’s grasp and Tubbo settles on the ground in front of the altar. 

“Describe them.” And Quackity did. He described his father’s bright blue eyes and Phil’s wings. He described Tommy’s rosey cheeks and the way Wilbur’s glasses always seemed to be crooked no matter how many times Phil had fixed them. And when Tubbo had finished his drawing and Quackity burst into tears again. And Tubbo had hugged him, apologizing over and over again for making him cry. Quackity had understood in that moment. He’d protect Tubbo with his life. He’d give Tubbo the world and protect him from the darker parts.  
And Quackity was never lonely on that day again. Always joined by Tubbo with new and improved drawings each year. The old ones stayed in the box. And they cried together. And Quackity felt lighter. Almost like he could fly.

…

Tubbo had never understood the significance of the certain day. But he wanted to remember his caretaker. He wanted to remember his true brother. Regardless of the day. So he drew on the back of an old newspaper after everyone else had left. He drew Quackity’s yellow wings. He drew his beanie. He drew the godfather, the father, the friend and the son. Who’s names he’d never been privy too but he was determined to carry their memory on… Now….. Now that Quackity couldn’t. Now that Quackity is gone. Tubbo would remember. 

And he would get his revenge. He’d be damned if he didn’t.

**Author's Note:**

> ya'll asked for Quackity angst. 
> 
> I'm just giving what the public want
> 
> kudos and comments are appreciated!
> 
> And give me ideas of what ya'll want to see!


End file.
